


A Rosy Dream

by dallonation



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, flowershop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:01:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dallonation/pseuds/dallonation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working for twelve hours straight in a flower shop was not how Dallon Weekes wanted to spend his Valentine’s Day. But a certain gentleman seems to make him forget about all that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rosy Dream

**Author's Note:**

> another tumblr work I felt like sharing here! enjoy!!

Working for twelve hours straight in a flower shop was not how Dallon Weekes wanted to spend his valentine’s day.

It wasn’t because he wanted to spend it with his special someone or anything like that. It was because a) he didn’t have anyone to call his special someone and b) because he was constantly reminded of this every time he made a sale. It didn’t even have to be Valentine’s Day. Every day seemed to be someone’s birthday, anniversary, or day to finally ask someone out and they think that somehow a pink rose might help seal the deal.

But those days weren’t too bad. Dallon was completely fine with people getting gifts for other people, it’s a completely natural human phenomenon. But Valentine’s Day was without a doubt the worst of them all.

For some reason, couples all around the world unanimously decided to make it the norm to hype up one single day in February on which flowers and chocolates are mandatory in expressing your love for your girlfriend, boyfriend, husband, wife,  or partner. And if you didn’t have one of those you had to have every couple’s happiness rubbed in your face everywhere you went.

And that was exactly how Dallon felt every single time he wrote out a romantic card, handed over a pungent bouquet, or was asked for his opinion on what flowers the ladies like the most. All of which he did with the least amount of sincerity and small talk necessary.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Dallon _was_ somewhat bitter about never experiencing what it would be like to be in a relationship or having someone to call his own. Sure he’s had crushes and infatuations during his highschool days that could’ve been more than that but in all honesty, he was just too shy to act on his feelings. Dallon was completely fine talking to customers because they were people he would most likely never see again. But when it came to people he had feelings for, some switch goes off inside him and he can’t seem to formulate words or sentences. He just crumbles under the intense pressure of possible rejection and because of these reasons he’s come to hate valentine’s day and all its festivities over the course of his lifetime.

But aside from the day’s materialistic values and emotional deficiencies, Dallon did understand that it was always the busiest day of work at france’s flowers. Busy days meant lots of business and lots of business meant more income and more income meant a bigger paycheck. And for these reasons, Dallon was able to bite his own tongue and put on a fake smile, asking each customer who they were buying flowers for and telling them that their boyfriends or girlfriends are incredibly lucky to have someone like them.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t get exhausting, sitting outside in the sun behind a plastic table on an uncomfortable chair for hours at a time just to bring attention to and sell classic red roses to sidewalkers.

You’d probably wonder how a guy got stuck working at a _flower shop_ of all workplaces. Well, long story short, Dallon needed a job and he didn’t exactly have the ideal resume. Being a college dropout to pursue his music dream didn’t really make him look good. Especially when that dream didn’t work out and thousands of scholarship dollars went down the drain. So he needed a job that didn’t require a lot of experience, was relatively easy to do, and had some sort of pay. And for him that was a relatively popular flower shop a few blocks away from his apartment that he needed to pay rent for.

The sky had already darkened, the glimmer of a few stars and the clear shape of the moon visible. It had been an extremely lengthy day of sales as Dallon’s watch reads 7:00pm, signaling the one hour mark until the end of his shift. He runs a hand over a stray rose petal on the table, sighing deeply as he slouches foward in his metal folding chair. He’s had to restock his table four times today, each restock replenishing his supply by about 250 roses. Yeah. That’s a lot of roses. But it’s also a lot of thorns as you can clearly tell by Dallon’s calloused and cut up palms. His pastel yellow apron and white jeans are covered in soil and plant water and his face is similar in the small patches of dirt on his cheeks and forehead. His baseball cap is probably drenched in sweat that’s been accumulating in his hair, so he takes it off and he can instantly feel the cool breeze slightly relieve his body temperature. He lazily runs a hand through his brown hair, feeling how sticky and wet it is in his fingers. He thinks about the long shower he’ll have the luxury of taking when he gets home. But at least he smelt alright from being around roses all day.

You’d think the consumer rush would have gone down around evening time, but you’d be surprised how many last minute thinkers still stop by Dallon’s station as the sun goes down. It’s not as busy as the afternoon or morning hours but it’s not quite as calm either until it gets to be around 7:30ish.

Right now, it’s 7:57 P.M. And Dallon can hardly wait as he’s practically counting the seconds and praying that no more customers come by so he can finally go home and be bitter about being lonely by himself. Dallon gets up from his chair, reaching his arms up to stretch his muscles, arching his tall back forward, backward, and then to both sides. A few loud pops can be heard as he groans softly, bringing his arms back down from above his head and then rotating his neck in circles to release any more tension. His lower back might still hurt a little from sitting slouched over for such a long period of time but it felt nice to move around for a little. Dallon picks up his collapsible chair, folding it so it could easily be leaned against something. He turns around and props it on the outside of the shop window behind the table.

“Hey, are you still selling?”

Dallon’s head whips around, feet still planted to find the source of the sound. Expecting to see yet another customer coming between him and relaxation, his blue eyes land on a young man, significantly shorter than him by at least five inches. The young man’s stands there with this smirk on his face as he waits for an answer, large brown eyes trained on Dallon’s. Dallon is slightly taken aback because the guy seemed to appear out of thin air, considering that he didn’t hear any footsteps upon his arrival. He dismisses his faulty hearing as a side effect from being so tired of working. Once Dallon gets past that little discrepancy, eyebrows are raised a little as his eyes scan over the stranger, as if to analyze him. He looks from his slicked back, pompadour hair cut, to the features his chiseled face, to his leather jacket-band t-shirt ensemble. As much as he tries to hide it, Dallon finds himself swallowing hard as if his mouth had gone dry by just looking at the guy. There’s just something that he radiates that makes Dallon feel so attracted to him. He felt his knees go a little weak  and when he opens his mouth to answer the guy, nothing comes out. The stranger licks his lips, studying Dallon’s face with a combination of concern and playful amusement at his loss for words.

“You okay?” he asks in the same, charismatic voice Dallon heard before, a smile creeping across his pink lips. A shiver is sent down Dallon’s spine. His tone is almost encouraging, but Dallon’s too flustered to notice as he’s so focused on keeping his cool.

“I…uh…” Dallon manages, feeling his cheeks flush a bright shade of red with embarrassment as his hand reaches to scratch the back of his neck out of habit. His gaze moves to his tennis shoes to avoid eye contact as much as possible in hopes that it’ll make it easier for him get at least one sentence out. He glances up again shyly as he tries again. “Y-yeah… sure. how many do you need?” he asks, voice cracking just a little.

“I’m not sure,” the man says, feigning genuine confusion. “How many roses would you want someone to get you?”

Dallon fully looks up at the strange question. His own preferences weren’t something that people normally asked for, especially as a guy. But nonetheless, he’ll answer. “I-I would be fine with just one, plain, red rose.” Dallon says, shrugging, “But, of course, it depends on who you’re buying for.”

“I’ll take one large bouquet of red roses, please.” the man says after thinking it over for a few seconds. He fishes his wallet out of his interior jacket pocket as Dallon picks up the last roses left on his table, wrapping them in a clear plastic sheet and securing them in place with an elastic rubber band. He feels a little less embarrassed as he keeps his eyes trained on what’s in his hands, knowing that this will all be over in a second. Once the flowers are bundled up, Dallon grabs a small, pink, to-and-from notecard from its stack and uncaps a nearby ballpoint pen. He hands both of these items to his customer without looking directly at him. Their fingers brush slightly and Dallon almost freezes at the contact. The man bends over to write his custom recipient name and Dallon busies himself with the bouquet, nudging the roses around in the plastic until his customer was finished writing so he didn’t stare. Dallon routinely takes and places the card in the plastic of the bouquet, setting the whole thing down on the end of the table.

“That’ll be twenty dollars and fifty cents, please.”  Dallon says, his normal volume returning gradually.

A crisp twenty dollar bill and a crumpled single are handed over with a smile. Dallon takes the cash and opens his safe box, putting both bills inside and taking out two quarters. He hands the change back along with the bouquet, smiling awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Dallon says timidly, having the decency to look the man in the eye. he gets another smile in return.

“No, thank _you_. I have a feeling he’s gonna love these. Have a good night.” the man says as he takes the bouquet with a wide grin on his face.

“Y-you too.”

And with that, the man that made Dallon’s heart beat like a stallion turns around to walk away.

Such an encounter has dallon ready to breathe a sigh of relief as he watches him walk away, when the man suddenly turns back around after taking not even two steps away from the table. With a look of confusion, Dallon is about to ask if something was wrong but is immediately silenced when the bouquet of roses he just sold is thrust right in front of him. Dallon’s mouth opens to say something, but is immediately cut off.

“Hey, I think you’re really cute and if you’d let me, I’d love to take you out on a date tonight.”

Dallon’s eyes widen, looking from the bouquet to the man holding it. The request is so abrupt that it takes Dallon at least ten seconds to process what he actually heard. The man’s smiling hopefully, shifting his weight from his heels to his toes as he holds the flowers in front of Dallon. The way he asks exudes both confidence and respect. It’s not forceful but it’s also not unsure. It’s that perfect balance in between being too lenient and too arrogant. And manners were always something that increased likability. Dallon is overwhelmed with a sense of flattery and anxiety, unsure of what to even say. This attractive stranger just asked him out on a date and gave him flowers. Even if they were the ones Dallon just sold to him. Dallon’s cheeks are hot again as he shyly takes the bouquet, still unsure of what was happening.

“Y-you…w-what…?” Dallon stutters, struggling to find the right words to say. His eyes land on the small card peeking out behind a rosebud, the one that the man signed only seconds ago. Dallon picks it out with his free hand, holding it out in front of him so he could read what was scribbled on it.

_To: The Really Hot Flowershop boy <3_

_From: Brendon Urie, An Admirer_

A phone number is legibly scrawled right underneath the _from:_ line. Dallon looks back up at who he now knows as **Brendon Urie** in astonishment.

“You bought these,” Dallon says motioning to the flowers, still blushing furiously as he holds them. “f-for me?”

“Well, yeah.” Brendon shrugs, smiling thoughtfully up at Dallon.  “I figured if anyone should have them, it should be the cute boy selling them.”

The word ‘cute’ resonates in Dallon’s ears, hearing it for the second time in a row. No one’s ever called him that before that wasn’t related to him. All of these compliments made Dallon’s heart flutter, almost making him want to tear up because of how this was the sweetest thing that anyone’s ever done for him. Dallon’s eyes actually start to get glassy, but he blinks away his tears so he doesn’t look like so sensitive.

“Thank you...” Dallon says, teeth bared this time in a wide grin. This of course makes Brendon beam as well, seeing as he made his potential Valentine smile. Dallon shyly returns his gaze to the roses, completely taken over with sweet talk. He wasn’t sure how he felt a few minutes ago but now Dallon was almost sure that he felt happy.

Dallon sees a hand reach in front of his face and underneath his chin. Reflexively his right hand twitches slightly. A soft hand reaches to still Dallon’s, his large palm being held delicately by a smaller one. The small note card that Dallon previously held is dropped. Dallon’s lips part as he lets out a small gasp in surprise, eyes filled with fear until his gaze meets another. He looks into the Brendon’s eyes and he instantly feels the warmth in them. The bouquet of roses is held in Dallon’s other hand that isn’t being held right underneath their chins. Brendon looks concerned for Dallon, as if he didn’t mean to make him so flustered. And while it’s meant to ease him, it really only makes Dallon more nervous to be in such close proximity to Brendon’s really attractive face.

“If you don’t wanna go on a date, it’s okay.” Brendon’s voice is tender, his breath ghosting over Dallon’s lips as he pulls back.  “I just wanted you to have the flowers to remind you that someone thinks you’re special.”

Dallon blinks a couple times, almost exasperated that Brendon would even think that he didn’t want to go on a date with him after such a thoughtful gesture. But then he remembers that he never actually told Brendon yes or no.

“My shift ended ten minutes ago. If you can give me a few minutes to close up shop, I’d be happy to…” The next words out of Dallon’s mouth are a little shaky. “go out w-with you.”

Brendon’s face immediately lights up, nodding repeatedly. “Yeah, of course. take your time. I’ll wait right here.” he says with a laugh, clearly ecstatic that his confidence payed off as he watches Dallon disappear into the store.

This Valentine's Day would be like no other.


End file.
